


Desire and Decorum

by MillsFrancis



Series: Desire and Decorum Ficlets [1]
Category: Desire & Decorum (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillsFrancis/pseuds/MillsFrancis
Summary: Proposals are tricky business.





	1. Preface

So, hi.

Just a quick note from me rather than trying to explain every chapter. This is a collection of stories I've written about the characters from the visual novel 'Desire and Decorum’.

I've decided to put them in a collection because of the way they're written. I don't feel like I'm experienced enough in writing this genre or this style of description, so they don't sit well as fully formed stories to me. Also, I seem to have forgotten how to write the beginning of a story so they've got pretty abrupt openings (sometimes). I don't think this makes them any more rubbish to read, but like I said I don't think they're fully formed stories. I guess they're somewhere around drabbles.

I'd recommend reading the books (or watching them on YouTube, I guess) because I'm kind of relying on you having basic knowledge of the characters and the setting rather than having to establish it myself. What I've written is often a continuation or rewrite of something that happened, or heavily influenced by the story as I read it.

If there's anything wrong with the way I write this genre (calling a character the wrong title etc), it might be because that's how they do it in the game or it might be my mistake. Either way, feel free to let me know and I'll look into it!

Hope that clears things up! Thanks for reading my stuff, I love you all.


	2. A Proposal Of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proposals are tricky business.

Even as she walks up the short garden path Lady Elizabeth finds herself trying to convince her doubts that this isn't a bad idea. Or, at least that it's not too catastrophically embarrassing an idea to go along with it. Gracious, she'll even settle with being satisfied it's the best option she has given the circumstances. Her knock is answered after a few moments and Elizabeth has the presence of mind to be glad the gentry don't answer their own doors. Mr Sinclaire's butler, she presumes, waits expectantly.

"Good evening." She greets, dipping into a curtsy before she can stop herself. "I am Lady Elizabeth of Edgewater. Is Mr Ernest Sinclaire available to talk?"

The butler raises an eyebrow at her claim of status. Her lack of any accompaniment of an evening in London, and the unnecessary curtsy cast visible doubt over her credibility, but thankfully he nods once and welcomes her into the foyer. Elizabeth waits obediently in the entryway of the townhouse until he returns; Mr Sinclaire a few steps behind him.

Ernest's confusion increases when he sees his visitor is indeed Lady Edgewater, and he tips his head slightly. Though his fingers work a touch faster to button his shirt collar before he reaches the bottom of the stairs, his untamed curls show her visit has interrupted his evening. Elizabeth offers him a respectful curtsy in greeting and he replies with a stiff bow. He looks better unkempt as he is, as if the shirt tie and overcoat he typically wears hold him upright too tightly.

"Lady Elizabeth, I was sure James must have been mistaken when he told me you were here...and alone...is everything alright?"

She wants to assuage his concerns as quickly as possible, so nods.

"Yes, Mr Sinclaire. Nothing awful is the matter. I hoped you would be available to talk."

"Just to talk?" Ernest's unease lifts mostly at that. However unusual it is he supposes he should associate Lady Bennett with unconventional actions by now. He can't say he minds her presence, either. "My Lady, I strongly doubt I am good enough leisure conversation for you to seek me specifically. Perhaps you've grown tired of Miss Sutton's gossiping?"

A flash of a smirk passes by unchecked before Elizabeth can shake her head. The easy pace of their teasing is safely familiar.

"I rather think you would be more interested in her gossiping if you knew that the subject is often your own comings and goings around Edgewater, Sir." Elizabeth quips, admittedly surprising Ernest.

"Indeed? I had no idea you were so keen to discuss me. Do come in; I'd like to hear exactly what Miss Sutton speculates when I'm not around." Offering his arm as they walk together, he leads Lady Bennett across the foyer to the sitting room.

By the time he closes the door behind them, Elizabeth has tensed again. She knows this is the most undone that Ernest has ever seen her but can't seem to collect herself enough to fool him.

"...Lady Elizabeth…" He presses this time, unwilling to let her sit in turmoil alone. "As much as you deny it, something brought you across London to my doorstep tonight. Something other than my lacking conversational skills. I pray, tell me." At her silence, Ernest draws his chair closer to hers beside the small table. "Perchance Edgewater? How is your Father with the Countess?" Mr Sinclaire's only been gone a few days but Earl Edgewater has been more than a mentor for him in the years after his parents' deaths, and he feels a certain connection to the man.

Elizabeth hesitates, granting a nod before she speaks.

"My Father is in good health, as are the Countess and my Grandmother, thank you. Your apprehensiveness is not entirely inaccurate, however."

Already she feels sick; knowing the words she must get out and how alarmingly bold they are. Ernest is waiting beside her, doing little to help the tightness in her chest or clammy sensation on her palms. She longs to rub her hands dry on her skirts; stopped by the alarm she knows it would cause her Grandmothers manners. Propriety is something endlessly complicated by Lady Elizabeth's newly acquired title and she's yet to manage to make sense of it.

The absurdity of the whole situation would be enough to make Elizabeth laugh if she didn't feel at such a disadvantage. Mr Sinclaire seemed so familiar already and it takes her far too long to remember how little they know each other. Just a few nights ago she'd learned of his first wife, and not even through his willingness. Weeks before that they had barely met on the doorstep of Edgewater.

An unaccompanied evening visit suddenly seems far too bold, even if Mr Sinclaire welcomed her readily. The urge to bolt is near overwhelming. Only the concerned eye of Mr Sinclaire keeps her rooted in the chair. Elizabeth doesn't know if she's ever seen him look at her so genuinely.

"You see, Sir...Countess Henrietta seeks to upset my Father's claim for my title...for my right to Edgewater. I hardly expected anything less; her dislike of me must be obvious to anyone who is unfortunate enough to visit. The quickness with which she has been able to begin to undermine me, on the other hand, is more surprising...Father and I expected I had at least till the end of the social season for her plans to acquire real traction but that simply isn't the case." Mr Sinclaire sits in patient silence as Elizabeth rambles. The developments in her status elevation are indeed expected but that makes them no less troublesome. He gives a small nod of encouragement when she glances over at him, holding his tongue until she's done.

"I received an urgent letter from my Father this morning. The Countess has enlisted the services of a barrister to declare me an unsuitable heir to Edgewater...without a strong marriage prospect it is certain she will meet no difficulties." Elizabeth sees Ernest tense slightly even at the mention of marriage. If he finds the mere mention so disagreeable surely she must be wasting her time? She doesn't blame him, of course. After such a disastrous end to his first marriage it is only natural for him to be disinterested in another. Especially not to someone like herself when he is surrounded by proper ladies. Respectfully he stays quiet. Elizabeth almost wishes he would interrupt her...turn her down now rather than let her continue to embarrass herself and finish her speech.

"I realise that this is entirely unorthodox and I must seek your forgiveness for my boldness...I just do not see another approach to such a pressing situation…Well, there is one other. If this displeases you so, I will instead accept the offer of courtship from Duke Karlington-" she pauses at Ernest's surprised cough, still afraid to meet his eyes. Recovering somewhat slowly, Mr Sinclaire's voice is measured when he speaks.

"Apologies, Lady Elizabeth, I did not mean to interrupt...I did not expect His Grace to have offered you courtship so formally is all." Elizabeth understands even with her limited knowledge of Duke Karlington. His pursuits of ladies seem to follow an unsavoury pattern. Nevertheless the revelation seems to have thrown the conversation to a new angle; one that Elizabeth isn't yet sure of. She knows how much Mr Sinclaire dislikes His Grace after all, but not why. From their interactions she could wager a guess, but it would be unbecoming of a lady at the very least. Whilst her mind has been traipsing the intricacies of relationships among the gentry, Ernest has risen and begun pacing vaguely in front of the chairs.

"...In such a short time frame, my priority must be to do what is best for Edgewater...I had simply wondered...hoped...that I might be able to come to an alternative arrangement than the Duke." Elizabeth continues slowly, watching the man wandering back and forth in front of her. "Again, I apologise for visiting in such haste and with such an unwelcome problem. I'm simply looking-"

"You are looking for an alternative arrangement." Mr Sinclaire parrots her words abruptly but they don't sound right. He doesn't sound understanding, even in resignation. He sounds annoyed...worse, he sounds hurt. Insulted by her considerations.

"Well, yes." Elizabeth agrees with a short nod. It seems inescapably clear to her that she would be seeking another option to the repugnant Duke Richards. It takes a careful study of his face for Lady Bennett to realize where she's stepped wrong and her eyebrows lift in surprise. "Oh!"

Ernest scoffs, apparently already dismissive of any way she could try to retract her words or mitigate her mistake. In passing, Elizabeth thinks of his first wife and the distinct effect the betrayal has had. How could his wife have trampled his affections so brutally? She can't imagine purposely hurting Ernest despite the harsh personality he now bears. Instead, she knows it would be absurdly easy to love him; to fall in love if he would only let her close enough.

"I've been unclear. Let me try again...I seek an alternative to Duke Richards, Mr Sinclaire. No doubt you agree with my distaste. Truthfully, if I had the luxury of time I would not be visiting you with this discussion now...I wouldn't be visiting you with this discussion at all. Had I the luxury of time I would extend it to you wholehearted. I wouldn't need an alternative."

Sinclaire's brusque pace falters as his attention swirls to Elizabeth. He blinks a few times in utter astonishment and she can't help a tender smile at his blush. Rising, she cuts off his pacing before it turns completely to stumbling.

"I apologise for speaking so unclearly, Mr Sinclaire. I should have been more straightforward, I see. I'd worked myself into a panic even stepping through your door at this hour - I'm sure you noticed. The very notion of asking appeared so ridiculous that I was sure you would see it as such." She explains in a gentle tone.

Mr Sinclaire is quiet for a long moment after. His gaze roves her face as if he's searching for some untruth to her words. Seemingly satisfied there is none, he swallows.

"I see." he murmurs at last. "...Do forgive my abrasiveness, Lady Edgewater. Regrettably my social skills are tainted by previous experience." His voice is lower that she's ever heard it, and still wildly unsure. It's comforting to know that this territory is at least almost as new to him as it is to Elizabeth.

"I am quite used to your abrasiveness, Mr Sinclaire." She teases lightly in hopes of providing him some semblance of familiarity in their usual joshing. A laugh passes his lips, breath ghosting over Elizabeth's cheek. She hadn't registered quite how close their faces had gotten. Her own breath catches in her throat. Surely he'll kiss her? It's not proper, but she's already standing in his private parlour, the sky darkening outside. Moreover, it's a wasted opportunity and Mr Sinclaire has rarely wasted a chance to surprise her.

He doesn't kiss her, but brings his hand up to stroke the backs of his fingers over her cheek. The tremor in his touch resonates through Elizabeth's knees under his intense stare. His other hand finds hers, long fingers reaching past her sleeve to trace circles on the inside of her wrist. It's very possibly the most intimate touch Elizabeth's received since she arrived at Edgewater, and certainly the only intimate touch she's been wanting. It doesn't go any further, though Ernest's eyes drop solidly to her lips before he pulls himself away. He's gone less than half a step; leaving his fingers loosely entwined with her own. When he feels he's allowed enough time to properly process their true situation, Ernest's lips twitch into his familiar smirk.

"Are you proposing to me, Lady Elizabeth?" The words are quiet in contradiction of his goading.

"No." Elizabeth pushes back; her own voice no louder than a hum. The anxious crease of Ernest's forehead makes her smile. "I'm only proposing you might like to visit my Father and the Countess at Edgewater...soon."

Ernest chuckles and nods, conceding.

"Gladly. Tomorrow. Perhaps I shall invite myself around for lunch. I should like to see the Countess' face in person if you're to deny me a private proposal." He squeezes her fingers affectionately before letting her hand go altogether. "I must request you return home now, however. I suddenly find myself with more than one errand to attend to in the morning." There's a happy glint in his eyes that Elizabeth is only too pleased to note he often has when they talk.

"Certainly, Sir." She mocks still, dropping into a half-hearted curtsy. Mr Sinclaire scoffs again but it's a much lighter sound than previously. Offering his arm, he leads her out to his coach; loathe to let her walk home this late. He waits until she's settled inside the coach to lift her knuckles swiftly to his lips for a firm kiss, and relishes in the delighted laugh she gives him in reward.

"Tomorrow, then." She murmurs, unable to stop herself from smiling down at him.

"Tomorrow." Ernest promises.


	3. Dinner party rewrite.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What might have happened if MC had been able to stand up for Ernest at his dinner party.

Elizabeth steps between the two rowing men, angled towards Ernest. She shouts over their argument; astonishing the other dinner guests.

"Mr Sinclaire!" she scolds sharply.

His incredulous attention snaps down to her. The Duke smirks.

"Me?! Have you not been paying attention? I-"

Elizabeth interrupts Mr Sinclaire; standing tall and confident in front of him.

"My expectations of **you** are far higher than those I have of Duke Richards. Am I mistaken?" She asks, hissing between gritted teeth.

Mr Sinclaire holds his tongue with some difficulty - his whole body fuming tensely; jaw grinding as he considers her words. They'd be a compliment if they weren't so violent a warning. She's watching him expectantly. Daring him to snap at her again. He knows she's right. If he has to be reprimanded at his own dinner party he'd honestly prefer it was by Elizabeth. She knows his temperament better than he expected, and she's correct in the placement of her anger, as usual. His behaviour is unacceptable. Sinclaire relents, even with the smug glint in Duke Karlington's eye. Taking a breath, he drops the stiff bravado from his shoulders and stretches his fists, turning to Elizabeth and lowering his jaw to speak with her properly.

"...No… Apologies, Lady Edgewater."

She gives a soft nod of appreciation and acceptance in return and Sinclaire feels himself relax more fully. The silence of the party is deafening now, but he finds he doesn't have time to be embarrassed any further before Elizabeth speaks once more. It's Duke Karlington's turn to be scolded, apparently.

"I believe now would be a good time for you leave, Your Grace."

She begins, but it's far more certain than a suggestion. The Duke blinks stupidly. Beside him, Ernest straightens slightly with amusement and flattery as Elizabeth continues.

"You were uninvited in the first instance and have since taken advantage of Mr Sinclaire's graciousness, insulted his other guests and overstayed your undeserved welcome."

Lady Bennett doesn't move. She doesn't flinch when the Duke's face curdles slightly, nor as he glares at Sinclaire. Her eyes follow him as he finally moves around to collect his belongings and stomp out into the evening. The look on his face makes it clear he'll find some way to retaliate, and still Elizabeth meets his scowl. Only shifting when the door is closed, her attention lands on Ernest and he wills himself not to blush and let on how flattered he is at her actions. Elizabeth nods again, encouraging him to return to his hosting duties. Even now she deliberately avoids the gazes of the other guests in favour of watching him patiently. He clears his throat, already painfully aware of the gossip there will be tomorrow. Although, with the absence of Duke Karlington and the presence of Miss Bennett to comfort his lack of restraint, perhaps salvaging the occasion won't be such a dreadfully pointless hardship.


	4. Drunk and Broken and Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Duke proposes.

Elizabeth wavers at the question, mouth hanging open in uncertainty. Ernest can see her hesitation from his place in the gathered crowd. He can practically hear her brain working frantically through her options in the few moments before she'll have to answer Duke Karlington's proposal. A hundred pairs of eyes watch, oblivious to the fear in Elizabeth's expression. Even the Duke doesn't appear aware. It's just as likely he doesn't care.

Ernest sees as if he's watching a carriage crash in slow motion; tongue and feet frozen in horror, heart in his throat. Elizabeth looks resigned before anyone can get suspicious and Ernest knows what's to come. He knows the reply is for the good of Edgewater. To secure Lady Bennett's future rather than to please her heart. That makes it no less sickening. He flees, unwilling to let himself hear her actual acceptance. The soft, delighted gasp of the crowd is enough.

Elizabeth's correspondence comes the next day. Delivered by hand from Edgewater. He hasn't visited, of course. In his opinion no congratulations are in order. Condolences seem far more apt. He's been too busy to give either, spending the night of her engagement drunk on the floor of his study instead. Only his inability to deny her requests has him arriving at Edgewater that night.

 

Mr Woods answers the door with a solemn bow and the house seems otherwise empty. The two men walk in silence to Elizabeth's rooms, both seemingly aware but unwilling to voice that Ernest knows his own way. Woods knocks on the door, opens it despite the lack of permission, and then takes his leave once more. Edging into the darkened room Ernest can hardly bare the sight of the state of Lady Elizabeth. She sits, half slumped, in a chair opposite the fire; gazing unseeingly at the curls of flames licking up toward the chimney. Sinclaire knows he's never seen her so disheveled. The fact that she's letting him - that she's requested his company when she looks like this - drops a pitiful weight into his gut. Her hair is in tangles round her face and she's dressed only in her nightgown. The rest of her clothes are piled at the end of her bed. The heavy curtains are drawn, leaving the room in a depressing darkness. Rather appropriate.

"Mr Sinclaire." Elizabeth greets in a croaky whisper, waving him further into the room with the whiskey bottle she holds. On her cheeks and in her eyes there are tears, terribly clearly illuminated even in the dull light. Ernest sits obediently in a chair to one side and waits with his brow furrowed.

Silence. For too many agonising moments the crackling fire is the only sound and yet when Elizabeth speaks again he still wishes she hadn't.

"Thank you for coming so promptly. I know my request was short notice." Her pain isn't masked by the clinical politeness and he cringes. It's impossible for him to know who she thinks she's benefiting by addressing him as society dictates even though they're alone. It can't make her ache any less, surely? He feels that much worse for it himself. Any reply he might have been about to give dies in his throat as she rolls her head to stare at him. He doesn't know what she's searching for in his face but she doesn't appear to find it. Another drink from the whiskey bottle is apparently more comforting despite the burning kick that makes her cough. Perhaps it's the pain she's finding comfort in. A bitterness to distract from the bitterness in her heart. It's how he feels about drinking and an aged whiskey provides just enough sharp pain to act as punishment for needing to get drunk in the first place. Though a lady in Elizabeth's circumstances can hardly be blamed.

"...Was that bottle full when you began?"

She nods. Little more than a quarter remains. The silent, desperate longing for a distraction it shows is entirely too familiar.

"Will you stop when it is empty?"

It's more a pleading request than a question. Elizabeth looks over at him again. He's sitting rigidly as if the chair were lined with nails; white knuckled hands clasped in his lap. Fresh tears prick in her eyes but she nods. Yes. She'll stop. Guilt would eat her alive if she caused him any more distress than she already has. Elizabeth doesn't know what she's done to deserve his continued company even as her choices must be tearing him apart.

They sit in silence once more. Only a mouthful or so remains in the bottle by the time Mr Woods returns. Sinclaire has spent the time watching Elizabeth cry silently. It feels like an awful invasion of her privacy and he has to repeatedly remind himself that she wants him here, even if all he'll do is watch her helplessly. There's little else he can do, and he knows they're both aware. He hasn't the status or the funds to dispute her engagement to Duke Karlington. Elizabeth's occasional sniffs and the fading sounds of the fire are interrupted by Mr Woods.

"My Lady, your Father and the Countess will return within the hour." His voice bares a sorrow that Ernest finds himself unable to articulate to her even when they're alone again.

"You should go." She speaks into the room, avoiding looking at him as her voice cracks. His sensibilities barely catch the disagreement he wants so badly to give. Instead, he watches Elizabeth hold the bottle up to him as if she's making a toast. She only breaks eye contact to drink the rest of the bottle at once. It's a gesture that Ernest will only realise later is a devastated goodbye.

There's a dull scraping sound as she replaces the empty bottle back on the side table - the heaviness in her actions the only sign she's drunk.

"You'll be alright?"

Alone, he means. Drunk and broken and alone as he was last night and will be again in a matter of hours. Elizabeth just nods; afraid her mouth will blurt the truth in desperation as he finally stands to leave. It's unlikely they'll ever speak again properly. He couldn't possibly bring himself to attend her wedding even if he were invited. Which he won't be. Duke Karlington would never allow it.

Shamefully Ernest flees without another word. Even as Elizabeth's now unbridled sobs follow him he flees - away from Edgewater as soon as he's able. _You're late._ He reasons with himself. Late for drinking until he can't remember his own name, much less the crushing sorrow of his loss.


	5. Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arguments on the lawn shouldn’t be so commonplace that nobody in the household interferes, yet this is the situation Ernest finds himself in with the newest Lady Edgewater.  
> —————————————————

Arguments on the lawn shouldn't be something so commonplace that nobody in the household interferes, yet this is the situation Ernest finds himself in with the newest Lady Edgewater. Her bold speech has never bothered him, if he's honest. In fact he enjoys their teasing conversations and had begun to visit Edgewater more often to seek them out. If someone were to ask he'd say they are simply preferable to the quietness of his own home, but only a fool would take that at face value.

Edgewater holds no fools. Perhaps this is the reason their disagreements go unchecked so often; why there is no fear that it will escalate to anything worse than shouting. Lady Elizabeth's Father and Grandmother treat them fondly, more like spats or lovers' arguments that will pass on their own. And they do, Ernest supposes, because he only remembers apologizing twice. Even then it was for his use of language in front of Dowager Lady Edgewater or the Countess, not for offending Elizabeth. She has never asked him to mind his words in front of her. She enjoys his slip-ups openly, rather, and takes more delight in flustering him than she should be allowed. It would terrify Ernest if he believed for a moment that Elizabeth had malicious intentions in manipulating his blunt nature in front of her family. They often share her amusement - with the exception of the Countess, naturally.

Embarrassingly Ernest catches his mind wandering as they argue. Lady Elizabeth hasn't noticed yet, Sinclaire takes the extra time to think on how long he's known her. They've been acquainted some months now and her personality has only increased in forcefulness. He can't recall a single time when she's permitted him a scathing remark that goes unanswered by one of her own. By far the worst part of her headstrong confidence is that her frustrations are rarely misplaced when he's concerned. Knowing him better than she has any right to brings her obvious delight and Ernest had quickly noticed himself working twice as hard to know her on a similar level. He finds her endlessly infuriating - something he's not shy about telling - yet he never strays far from Edgewater if he can help it. The cliche paradox is vastly unfamiliar territory that he knows Elizabeth would be only too pleased to learn of.

Earl Edgewater's arrival is a welcome interruption to both Ernest's mind and Elizabeth's ranting. He places a loving hand on his daughter's shoulder and greets the pair with the knowing smirk Ernest has grown accustomed to.

"Mr Sinclaire," the Earl begins curiously - surely an ominous sign.

"I've been meaning to ask you, what exactly are your intentions with my daughter?"

The question is loaded as ever but Mr Sinclaire's thoughts answer so quickly it's a wonder he doesn't stutter at the honesty.

"I intend to marry her, My Lord."

The Earl nods as if the answer is a completely casual revelation and not one that makes Ernest's stomach flop uneasily. Elizabeth's expression is a more appropriate stunned incredulousness when he manages to meet her eyes.

"If she'll have me." Mr Sinclaire adds, clearing his throat awkwardly. After all, if either of them are 'settling' it isn't him. Elizabeth looks like she doesn't remember a single word of English for a long moment that makes him feel agonizingly vulnerable. He didn't consider the very real possibility that she finds his admission repugnant...that he could swiftly have ruined his most enjoyable relationship. Elizabeth's voice stops him before he can panic proper.

"You wish to marry me, Sinclaire?"

Nodding, he tries to ignore the smug proudness on the face of Earl Edgewater still lingering beside them.

"If you'll grant me the patience to wait till I can gather my courage for a formal proposal, yes."

Yes. Of course she'll need a proper proposal. They've not been courting but nobody seems to see that as an obstacle. Then again, that could be the reason Lady Edgewater is as shocked as she is. She's quickly become his most meaningful relationship yet everyone knows how easily she forms friendships. Ernest's fears return - assuring him he's misread her feelings towards him; placed more weight in her gestures than they held, but then Elizabeth's lips quirk into the first shy smile he's ever seen her give.

"Mr Sinclaire, I only have so much patience and you routinely test it as is...However, I suppose if you're to promise me a lifetime, I can wait a few more weeks."

Ernest laughs relievedly. He gives a short bow in mocking of himself before meeting her eyes gratefully. If only he had known telling Elizabeth of his affections could be so simple he would have done it far earlier.


	6. Engagements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this immediately after book one ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N; So I wrote this because I feel like PB probably handled it in accordance with the plot of the second book, but they didn't release it five minutes after the first one ended and I'm impatient.
> 
> I love the casual way Sinclaire calls her 'darling' almost immediately. It's so sweet and natural.
> 
> Also my MC is Elizabeth Bennett (obvs) and I feel like OG Lizzie wouldn't have fainted.

_No._

Elizabeth echoes her mind. "No." The Duke turns slightly to hiss in her ear.

"Now, Elizabeth. We don't want to make a scene."

Elizabeth scoffs and rips her hand from his hold. "Release me! I will make a scene if I so wish!" If her Grandmother has already deemed her unworthy of the family tiara a little uproar can't hurt. "I am _**not**_ engaged to you." She speaks loud enough for the crowd to hear; already searching their numbers. "I am _very proudly_ engaged to Mr Sinclaire." The man freezes, part way to the door of the ballroom; leaving only to avoid such a public affair. He tenses as everyone swivels to find him. Then they part enough to leave a pathway from him to Elizabeth and Ernest turns to face her. She strides across the floor to meet him, where his very presence softens her rage. She offers her hand and he takes it. He folds it gently between both of his and gives her a tentative smile. He looks a horrible mix of unsure and flattered. Elizabeth lifts her chin in defiance of the judgements of the others, but the Duke barks a laugh. The parted guests turn their attention back and forth like at a tennis game.

"I don't know what you've told poor Mr Sinclaire, but we've been betrothed for months, my Elizabeth."

"Lies. That's impossible." Elizabeth casts a glance at her Grandmother, willing her to speak up now she knows of Elizabeth's engagement to Ernest. She could forgive the preemption if it was retracted now. It isn't, and Elizabeth's breath catches in horror. "Grandmother?" As the Dowager Countess walks the pathway towards them Elizabeth backs away a few steps. She drags Ernest with her, afraid her Grandmother will dare to forcibly part them. To her surprise Ernest stands strong. He tucks Elizabeth's hand into the crook of his arm and straightens his posture for the Dowager Countess. His voice is private when he speaks.

"Countess Dominique. Elizabeth and I are engaged." He tells her firmly though Elizabeth can feel the apprehension in his body. Dominique gives a nod only in acknowledgement of his words. She indicates the path to the door to the parlour for them both.

"Let's not talk here, Ernest." Her own voice is low and measured. She speaks as if she's scolding a small child. Like Ernest's been caught eating sweets before dinner. He gives her a nod of respect anyway and squeezes Elizabeth's hand, bending enough to whisper in her ear.

"You have me, darling." It's a promise he made a long time ago, even if he hadn't managed to tell her until tonight. He's going to be there forever. He's going to marry Elizabeth whether it takes a year or ten years. "We will get married. I will be your husband." Elizabeth both tenses and goes weak at the knees. They've barely had ten minutes of happiness. It's not fair! She's shocked and offended and angry all at once. Only Ernest's hold on her arm keeps her from rounding on the Duke as soon as they have privacy.

Instead, her Grandmother speaks first. "Elizabeth. I want you to listen to me before you interrupt." There's no option for her to do otherwise so Elizabeth nods tightly. "I spoke to Bishop Monroe earlier tonight and he told me what he had told you; that he would fulfill your Father's will so long as the terms were met. Duke Richards makes a fine match, as I've said before." The Duke smiles wickedly at Ernest and Elizabeth as the Dowager Countess continues. "He has a title and wealth. You can't deny he has the means to take far better care of Elizabeth, and of Edgewater, Ernest." Mr Sinclaire stiffens once more beside Elizabeth.

"If it were simply a matter of money, Duke Richards would have me beat no doubt. Easily so." He concedes through gritted teeth. "However Vincent wished Elizabeth to marry for love wherever possible. You know it to be true. I heard him speak it myself...Dominique I am most ardently in love with your granddaughter. I have been inexplicably drawn to her from the very moment we met. She is more beautiful than I ever believed possible, and her wit and character bring me immeasurable joy. With her I may even be tolerable She brings light into every darkened corner of my life. I cannot fathom how you could deny such a marriage." Dominique clearly agrees with him and Elizabeth wonders for a moment how trapped they are by her Grandmother's actions.

Duke Richards scoffs. Ernest feels visibly sick. " _Love_ is _fleeting_. I would have thought you'd learned that from your first marriage, Ernest." The Duke taunts childishly. Ernest makes move towards him. Elizabeth's fierce grip on his arm holds him back. She refuses to let her love stoop that low.

"Roselyn didn't love me as much as she loved a wealthy lifestyle. Hindsight is a fickle thing. At the very least I can be sure Elizabeth isn't marrying me for my wealth. She will have at least as much with Edgewater as I have at Ledford Park-."

"You could have _so much more_ , Elizabeth. I-." The Duke begins to talk over Ernest. Elizabeth, in turn, cuts the Duke off.

"On the contrary, _Your Grace_. Ernest Sinclaire will provide me with more than you could possibly hope to. We could lose every penny and I wouldn't mind. We could move back to Grovershire and live together there, in my old cottage, and I should be delighted every day to call Ernest my husband." She spares a look at her chosen fiancé. He's already looking at her with a whimsical smile and pink cheeks that let Elizabeth know they're in complete agreement. Ernest would be happy in her old life so long as they lived it together. "Ernest is everything I will ever need, and you are a disgusting, slimy, worm of a man-"

"Elizabeth!" Her Grandmother scolds her, voice sharp with shock, but Ernest's never looked more proud. Elizabeth isn't finished.

"You are a _disgusting_ , _slimy worm of a man_ and I should rather die than be married to you for even a moment." She spits it with venom rivalling Countess Henrietta.

" _Elizabeth!_ That is more than enough!" Dominique steps in more firmly; tugging her away from Ernest a few paces. The Duke is red in the face. Fuming at her disrespect. There's little he can do to Elizabeth with the present company so he whirls to Ernest instead.

"You! Didn't you learn your lesson the last time? I am infinitely more deserving of Elizabeth - of any woman! I won't have you stand in the way." He strides menacingly towards Ernest but Elizabeth's already there. She steps almost imperceptibly in front of Ernest; into the Duke's path. His step falters. Ernest doesn't flinch.

"There is nothing to stand in the way of, Tristan." The use of his first name is enough to make Duke Richards twitch again. Ernest's voice is completely level. "Your engagement to Elizabeth is non standing. I will tell Bishop Monroe so myself. Elizabeth cannot be engaged to you because she is already engaged to me."

But Duke Richards gives a dark chuckle. "Good luck proving whose engagement came first, dear Mr Sinclaire." With that, he bows mockingly at Ernest and then spins on his heel to return to the ball. Ernest sighs and rubs a hand over his face. Elizabeth's weight lands solidly against his chest; arms tight around him. It takes a him a moment to respond. He passes a hand over her hair and returns her embrace. When she looks up at him she sees the stress lines on his face. She sees the false smile he gives, and she sees the wetness already brimming at his eyes. He's fighting to be determined and strong and not consumed by the terrifying prospect of going against Duke Richards and the church. Elizabeth wants to soothe his worries. To wrap him up in her arms and hold him till he believes everything will be okay. But it won't be enough.

So she kisses him. She tiptoes and kisses him firmly. Ernest jumps, and the Dowager Countess coughs in surprise and averts her gaze. Elizabeth only presses closer to Ernest. He gives a barely audible moan against her lips and winds his arms around her like he's afraid she'll slip away. He kisses her until she can't breathe, still grasping at her when he pulls back.

" _Elizabeth...My Elizabeth. I love you."_ He doesn't think he'll ever be able to tell her enough. Not even if he were to spend every moment repeating the sentiment for the rest of his life. Ernest resolves to show her. When this is over and they're together and they're married, he'll show her. Before then, too. In fact from now onwards. Every second of every moment of every day until he dies she'll know exactly the love he feels for her. Every moment he lives will be for her. For his Elizabeth.


End file.
